


Those Who Came Before

by therealraewest



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Gen, Multi, implied character death in later chapters, reverse!verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:33:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4912522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealraewest/pseuds/therealraewest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if it was Minkowski who arrived halfway through Lovelace's mission?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lovelace Commanding

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this post by confusedbluesky =>http://confusedbluesky.tumblr.com/post/130120288058/this-randomly-popped-into-my-head-earlier-so-w359

            "So what did you decide, Actual?"

            Lovelace sighed, running a hand through her hair. The motion travelled to the crown of her head, then down the back until her hand was pressed against a tight muscle in the side of her neck. She rubbed at it as she looked at her communications officer. "I walled it off. Hui and Fisher helped."

            Lambert's lips pursed. Had it not been for his dislike of when she called him cute, she would have done so then. "And the... experiment?"

            "It's not hurting anybody."

            "Not yet."

            "I thought you were the one who wanted me to stop chasing it."

            "Mostly I meant for you to stop singing bad spy movie soundtracks while I worked," he considered. "But also I was... apprehensive when our commanding officer was insisting on waging guerilla warfare on a biomedically enhanced spider."

            "Okay, firstly, if you call Mission Impossible a bad spy movie I will be forced to demote you," she said, counting on her fingers. "And secondly, that almost sounded like you were worried about me, Communications."

            There it was, that hint of a smile she was after. "I'm always worried about you, Sir."

            She pushed herself off the wall so she could float close enough to give him a light punch to the shoulder. "Knew it."

            "I'm just glad you're done with all this," he smiled, not bothering to dignify her insinuation with a response. "You... are done with this, aren't you?"

            "You mean setting up booby traps and going off spider hunting? Yeah, I'm done." She stretched her arms over her head. "We have an... agreement."

            "You have an agreement with a spider?" Lambert quirked an eyebrow.

            Isabel shrugged. "What can I say, I'm an agreeable gal."

            "I'd beg to differ there."

            "Okay, I'm an agreeable gal to anyone who isn't a stick in the mud Communications Officer, up to and including literal death spiders."

            "Ha, ha," intoned Lambert, sounding unimpressed.

            "But enough about me, what have you been doing while I've been heroically risking my life for my dear crew?" She floated beside him at his station, looking over his controls. She knew well enough what most of them did and how to work them, but it would be a cold day in hell before Sam let her touch his station without his express permission.

            "I'm seeing what I can do to help out Rhea. Her systems have been draining more power than usual and it's slowing her down. I'm hoping perhaps a guided manual check of some of her pathways can help her access some of her old functions and cut down on power usage."

            Lovelace nodded. "She's been struggling since the whole Selberg ordeal. Is this so she doesn't need to spend time finding the old pathways herself?" asked Lovelace.

            "I c-c-can find them mysel-elf," Rhea said, her voice crackling through the speakers. "It would just be easier to not need to play w-w-where's waldo every time I need to t-turn on the lights."

            "She's taking after you," sighed Lambert. "The other day she told me to 'not pass go' or 'collect 200 dollars.'"

            "There's my girl," said Lovelace fondly. "Rhea, never change."

            "My personality and interpersonal intelligence units are designed to be in con-onstant flux as I learn and develop from those aro-aro-around me. But I'll try."

            "Classic Rhea," Isabel shook her head with a chuckle. "Sam, do you need help with your pathways project? It sounds like a two person job."

            Lambert had his mouth open, most likely to reprimand her for calling him by his first name, but instead of that the only noise that followed was a deep, whooping alarm.

            Lovelace snapped to attention, all looseness melting from her stance. Her mind whirled, brushing the cobwebs off of her training to try to find what emergency matched this alarm, a skill she'd had to exercise alarmingly often recently. Lambert looked to her with sudden obedient reverence, something that told her that he had no idea what was happening, which was in itself a rare occurrence.

            The comms buzzed as Dr. Hui's voice came through the speaker on Lambert's panel. "Captain, what's happening?"

            Proximity alert. It was the only thing it could be, but that made no sense. Quickly she pushed to the center of the communications panel, displacing Lambert as she worked. A moment later and she was broadcasting to the entire ship. "Everyone stay calm. This sounds like a proximity alarm, but give me a moment to be sure. Everyone who can, report to the Communications Room ASAP." Lambert made no noise, though normally he'd be fuming at Lovelace inviting the entire crew into his work quarters.

            She released the transmit button and looked to the ceiling. "Rhea, what's approaching?"

            "A-a-a craft, Captain."

            "A **_what?_** "

            Lambert stiffened. When Lovelace looked to him, he was already staring back with his eyes wide and hopeful.

            "Did they finally send someone for us?" he asked in a whisper, as if saying it any louder would make the faint possibility disappear.

            "Three hundred kilometers and closing, Captain," Rhea reported.

            "Rhea, recognition codes."

            "There are none."

            Lovelace furrowed her brows. "Scan the craft. Is there anyone onboard?"

            "Scans are... muddled, C-captain, but there is definitely something living on that spacecraft. There is one dis-distinct heartbeat."

            Lovelace turned to Lambert. "Open a ship-to-ship transmission."

            "Yes, sir," Lambert scrambled to the panel. A few moments later there was a burst of static and a beep. "Communications open."

            Lovelace swallowed hard. "Attention, Unidentified Spacecraft: This is the U.S.S. Hephaestus Station. Please identify."

            There was silence on the line for a beat, long enough for Lovelace to consider repeating her message, but then a crackle and a breath came across the line.

            "What?"

            Lovelace and Lambert exchanged a look. The stranger, a female from her voice, said no more. Lovelace leaned in and pressed the PTT button again.

            "Repeat, **please identify** , unidentified craft. Who are you and why are you approaching?"

            This time the response was almost immediate. "No, who am I speaking to? What station is this?"

            By this point, Doctors Hui and Fourier had made it to the comms room. They hovered behind Lovelace and Lambert, with Fourier's arm around the smaller Hui, who curled into her reflexively.

            "This is the U.S.S. Hephaestus station and you are speaking to Captain Isabel Lovelace, the Commanding officer. Now, for the last time, please identify yourself."

            "That's impossible."

            Lovelace took a deep, controlling breath. Whoever was in that spacecraft was making things entirely too hard for her, and the new presence of Fisher climbing into the already cramped room, her frustration levels were reaching an all time high. "Please clarify, craft. It is impossible to identify?"

            "No, **this** is impossible. You cannot be the Commanding officer of the Hephaestus."

            "I can assure you, I am."

            The response was immediate and as sure as Lovelace's. "Well **I** can assure **you** that **this** is the commanding officer of the U.S.S. Hephaestus Station. Commander Renée Minkowski, U.S. Airforce and commanding officer of the U.S.S. Hephaestus Station orbiting the red dwarf star Wolf 359. Now would someone **please** tell me what the **hell** is going on?"


	2. Resident Alien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stranger arrives on the Hephaestus and the crew gets hints towards the fate of the past crew.

            Fisher and Rhea worked together on guiding Minkowski's ship into the docking bay. Rhea almost insisted on doing it herself, but after the previous week's incident with the airlock it was decided by majority that even if she felt like she didn't need the help, it would make everyone feel better if she had backup.

            Throughout the docking and pressure exchange, Lovelace kept herself busy. She hauled herself down to the armory and back to the docking bay in record time. As the final moments of pressure exchange and safety checks played out, she put a hand on Lambert's shoulder, using the other to press a pistol into his palm.

            He looked from the gun to her in vague surprise. "Captain, are you sure this is the best first impression to be giving?"

            "We don't know who this 'Minkowski' is or where she came from. She could be some sick agent sent by our friend Cutter, or some horrible space ninja darkside jedi tentacle beast or something. For now, protecting my crew is first priority. I've already armed Fisher. Hui and Fourier are technically civilians, but Mace's Navy and we're Airforce. As long as we're trained, better safe than sorry."

            Lambert took a moment, then nodded, holding the pistol in both hands. Lovelace noticed that he didn't flick the safety off, but seeing as she had no intentions of taking hers off safety unless needed, she said nothing about it.

            "Everyone get behind me," she barked to her crew. Lambert fell just behind her, at her right side. Fisher got to her left, and the unarmed Hui and Fourier fell into the protected space behind the three of them, peering around Lovelace as the doors hissed open and they all had their first glance at Renée Minkowski.

            She was definitely worse for wear. Her jumpsuit was worn and torn, but bore the familiar Goddard Futuristics insignia on the left side of the chest, just above her embroidered name. It was definitely an older uniform, of a lesser quality than Lovelace and her crew's jumpsuits, but undeniably it was meant for a member of a deep space mission. Hair floated around her face wildly, a little more than half of it haphazardly gathered in what once might have been a ponytail. Her eyes were deep and sunken, but they stared out at Lovelace's crew like an animal in a trap examining the hunters come to kill it.

            And in her hands was, of all things, a harpoon gun.

            Lovelace raised her weapon, pointing it at the Minkowski. "Put your weapon down."

            The other woman raised her own, matching Lovelace's threat. "You first."

            "You are outnumbered. Put it down, **now** , hotshot."

            The harpoon gun didn't drop. Her eyes flickered around the room, taking in the crewmembers, then the room itself. She seemed to hover over small details, the pressurized tanks in the corner, the position of the doors, the dent in the far wall. "It's really the Hephaestus," she whispered to herself. Immediately her eyes were back on Lovelace. "Why did you bring me back here?" she spat through gritted teeth.

            Lovelace took a beat to process that question. "We didn't do anything. Now put your gun down. I can assure you this station's plenty big enough for the two of-"

            "You." Minkowski motioned at Lovelace with the end of the harpoon, a jerky motion that made Lambert stiffen. "You said you were the commanding officer."

            Lovelace nodded. "Affirmative."

            "What happened when the red ship and blue ship collided?"

            A flicker of trust and recognition came across Lovelace's mind. So she was command level after all. That was good to know. "Both crews were marooned. Confirmation: Victor Uniform Lima Charlie-"

            "Alpha November," finished Minkowski.

            "Our command level confirmation code is seriously 'Vulcan'?" hissed Fourier. "Is everyone in space a giant goddamn nerd?"

            Hui choked on a laugh behind Lovelace, and despite the situation Lovelace struggled to suppress a smile.

            Minkowski's eyes went to the two non-armed crew members, as if she'd just then realized they were people. Her weapon fell slightly, then pointed at the ground.

            "You were stationed here?" she asked softly, looking very tired.

            "We're on a 730-day rotation. About 500 days in," clarified Lovelace, relieved that Minkowski was no longer pointing the unfriendly end of a harpoon at her.

            Minkowski looked over them one by one, something akin to pity in her eyes. "All of you?"

            "Uh..." said Lovelace, unsure how to answer the question. She was saved from needing to, though, as Minkowski promptly passed out, the harpoon gun floating away from her limp hand.

            Thirty minutes later and she was secure in the infirmary, with her weapon stashed far away from her in Lambert's comms room. Rhea was busy running medical scans of the woman when Lovelace entered with a blanket for her, only to find Hui, Fourier and Fischer loitering around Minkowski's stretcher.

            "How's our resident alien doing?" Lovelace asked.

            "Surprisingly, despite our titles," said Fourier, jerking a thumb between herself and Dr. Hui, "Neither of us have any idea what to do in a medical situation. And Fischer is just here because he has a gun."

            Hui gave an agreeing shrug.

            "So she hasn't woken up yet? Or... said anything else?" Lovelace asked.

            "No, sir," answered Fisher. "She's out cold."

            "In that case; Fourier- you and Hui examine the shuttle with Rhea. I want a full breakdown of interplanetary capabilities and structural stability, and any logs on the ship's processor. I want to know where she came from and how long she's been out in space. Fisher, you can stay if you want, but I'm going to wait with her until she wakes up and see what info I can get."

            "To be honest, Captain, I'd kind of prefer to hop out. I haven't eaten or slept since yesterday and I'm having a major adrenaline crash. Would you mind if I?" Fisher motioned to the other two as Hui and Fourier headed towards the door.

            "No problem. Go." She waved him off, taking his place beside the unconscious woman as he hurried off behind the two doctors.

            Once they were out of sight, Lovelace sighed and allowed herself to slump forward, her forehead resting in her palms. "Rhea?"

            "Yes, Captain?"

            "What do her scans look like?"

            There was a whir from above. "Her vital signs show sig-gnificant stress to her system. Potential long exposure to inadequate oxy-xygen levels, and it appears that she has only just woken-ken up from a long period of cryosleep. Neural scans showed activity in areas associated with pa-pan-panic and stress but those have since calmed due to... well, unconsciousness."

            "Is she hurt?"

            "No, it appears that she's just worn out. My diag-iagnosis is that if you can get her to sleep for about si-si-sixteen hours and then keep her adequately fed and hydrated, and introduce her to a l-low-stress environment, she'd recover quick-ckly."

            "What are the chances she'd go along with that willingly?" asked Lovelace.

            "I'm a high tech piece of machinery with b-b-bioscanning capabilities, not a psychoanalyst."

            Isabel laughed once. "Fair enough. Send Dr. Spock in, would you Bones?"

            There was a hesitation. "D-Dr. Selberg? Are you sure that's the best ide-"

            "No! No no no, I meant Lambert. You know, Mr. No Fun, second in command? That Spock."

            "Oh." There was a pause. "Right-Right away, Captain."

            There was a noise beside her and Lovelace looked over to see Minkowski's half-open eyes gazing up at her. Well, perhaps not at her. Something in the sunken eyes told Lovelace that the woman was looking at her and seeing something, or someone, else.

            "Good morning, sleeping beauty," Lovelace said, trying to form her face into a calming smile. "Go back to bed, you need the rest."

            Minkowski groaned, shaking her head weakly. "'m fine, 'i'fel. Don' worry 'bout me."

            "You fell?" asked Lovelace, trying to decipher the sleep-muddled words. But Minkowski's eyes had already fluttered shut.

            Lovelace remembered the blanket in her arms and quickly laid it over the woman. As she tucked it under her shoulders to keep it in place, she took a moment to brush a lock of hair out of the other woman's face. Minkowski looked so peaceful now. She wasn't sure, but she felt something about their brief conversation had calmed her down.

            She rubbed her fingers together and realized the part of her hand that had touched the woman's hair was greasy. Looking at it closely, it was obvious that the woman's hair was matted and oily. Obviously there hadn't been time or resources for proper hygiene in the escape pod. That, and Lovelace knew from experience that the first thing needed after extended cryosleep was a long, hot shower.

            Lovelace felt the sleeping woman would thank her to not strip her without her consent, but she knew one thing she could do. She floated to the wall, grabbing a water bottle and a package of dry shampoo.

            When Lambert entered, he found Lovelace working suds through Minkowski's tangles, working at each knot with care to not tug too hard.

            "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, hovering in the doorway.

            "No, come. Sit." Lovelace motioned to the area around the stretcher, taking care not to displace the water or shampoo bottles that floated within arm's reach. "Well, float. Whatever. You know what I mean."

            Lambert seemed uncertain, but he floated in anyway, taking a place against the wall. "Has she woken up yet?"

            "Once, just for a second. Said something about falling? I think?" Lovelace squirted a blob of water into a mass of hair and suds and worked at it with her thumbs. "I think she was delirious."

            "Falling?"

            "Yeah, she said she fell."

            "What were her exact words?"

            Lovelace sighed. "God, Sam, I don't know. I think she said 'I'm fine, I fell, don't worry' or something like that."

            "'I fell,'" repeated Lambert.

            "Yeah, maybe she thought she fell into the star or something? I doubt she knows what she's saying."

            "Maybe she does. Look what we found on her shuttle," said Lambert, pulling something from his pocket. A small personal audio recorder sat in his palm. It looked older than the ones they used to record their daily logs, but it was similar. It had the same clip on the back that was meant to attach to their jumpsuits for hands-free access. He turned it around in his hand, revealing a small strip of tape with the faded words 'Douglas Eiffel' written in sharpie. "We had to replace the old batteries, but a few old recordings are still on it. Listen."

            He clicked play, and the tape inside whirred to life. A man's voice floated through the old speakers, grainy but clear enough to hear _"Welcome to Wolf 359. This is the audio log of Communications Officer Doug Eiffel-"_

            Lovelace and Lambert exchanged a wordless look. Not 'I fell,' 'Eiffel.'

            _"-on day four hundred and eighty... two? No, three! And I am happy to announce that the mandatory nightmare physical is officially cancelled. Woot woot! Not that they weren't already, but personally I thought Dr. Hilbert would do anything to get them back on the schedule after-"_

            The recording was suddenly drowned out by screaming.

            In her excitement to hear, Lovelace had leaned forward, accidentally pressing on the water bottle and sending a blob of water to float free in the air. This blob had made its way down to collide with Minkowski's face, clinging to the end of her nose. An inhale sent it straight up her nose and she jerked up, choking on the water and flailing at the droplets that still clung to her face. And, as if that wasn't panic enough, she was screaming between fits of coughing.

            "No! **No**!" she screamed, thrashing wildly beneath the blanket, which was doing its best efforts at limiting her movements and was probably the only reason Lambert hadn't been kicked in the face.

            "Grab her arms!" shouted Lovelace, jumping forward to try to restrain her. Lambert did as he was told as Lovelace pushed the wet, sudsy hair out of the way so it didn't cover Minkowski's face and panic her further.

            "No!" screamed Minkowski, fighting against both of them.

            "Hey! Calm down, you're okay!" Lovelace cried, trying to catch the woman's eyes. "You're fine, you're safe!"

            "No," Minkowski shook her head, tears collecting on her eyes and clinging to her cheeks. "No, he- I have to- He's going to drown-"

            "Nobody's going to drown, you're safe, you're on the Hephaestus."

            Minkowski coughed and spat water, taking deep, wheezing breaths. "He- He's going to..." she quieted the sounds of the forgotten yet still running recorder bringing her back to the present.

            _"-mmander Minkowski's been trying to hunt the thing down, so, you know, we'll see how that goes. Personally, my money's on Minkowski for pure pig-headded obstinacy and access to multiple firearms, including some of those that actually spit fire. Speaking of that, I probably should make a point that while flamethrowers are apparently not a health hazard, cigarettes are still banned. Unfair, right?"_

            Minkowski slackened, listening to the voice. She closed her eyes, listening as the recorder voice droned on. In a voice so quiet Lovelace was unsure if she'd really heard it, Minkowski mouthed "Eiffel."

            "You knew him?" Lovelace asked, referring to the man on the recording.

            Minkowski nodded, her eyes remaining closed.

            "What happened to him?" asked Lambert, surprising Lovelace. She tried to shoot him daggers with her eyes to let him know his tact could use some major work.

            Minkowski was silent for a long while, and for a moment Lovelace thought she'd drifted off again until she murmured "I'm so tired."

            Lovelace and Lambert's eyes met, and the unspoken question that passed between them was "what on earth have we gotten ourselves into?"


	3. Recordings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lambert and Lovelace examine the past daily logs of Communications Officer Doug Eiffel in order to piece together what happened on their predecessor's mission.

            Five recordings. That's all there were on the handheld. Lambert was working on getting them off of the recorder and cleaning them up.

            Surprisingly, that's all there was anywhere on the ship. The computers were dead, harddrives empty, engines barely operable. The only working part of the ship seemed to be the cryo containers. There were three- one that had apparently been used by Minkowski, and two others that had perishables inside; namely food.

            And something else that didn't sit right with Lovelace, though she couldn't quite put a name to it. A feeling. But on this station, feelings were hardly enough to base anything on.

            "Personally, I don't know how she su-su-survived long enough to get into the airllock-ock," mused Rhea. "The oxygen recycling system on this hunk of scr-scr-scrap metal was never even turned on, and even if it was I doubt it'd work."

            "So there's no chance of us high-ho silver-ing out of here on this, is there?" asked Lovelace.

            "Well, You'd need three more cryo containers, a bigger harddrive for me, and a lot more sup-plies just to think about it. Then there's zero propulsion, no navigation, laughable hull sta-stability, and don't get me starte-ted on life support."

            Lovelace decided not to mention that including Minkowski there were 7 humans to get off the station. She doubted Minkowski was the one Rhea was skipping over.

            "So in short, we're gonna need a bigger boat." Lovelace sighed, looking around the shuttle. "Who would get on something like this willingly?"

            "Maybe someone who had no other choice?" asked Rhea.

            "Hm," mused Lovelace. "How's Lambert coming on the recordings?"

            "He says he's almost done, Captain."

            "Almost as in if I start heading there now I'll show up just as he's finished?"

            Rhea processed this for a moment. "Affirmative."

            "Perfect. In route. Don't tell Lambert, I want him to think I'm just that good."

            A minute later and she was opening the door to the Comms room, just as a final keystroke brought Lambert to the cleaned audio files.

            "Rhea told you when I'd be done, didn't she?" he asked without turning around.

            "Dammit!" Lovelace swore. "You didn't even let me ask if you were done with the audio logs yet."

            "Because I know if I let you have any fun the entire station will find a way to spontaneously combust."

            Lovelace floated up to the comms panel. "Was that a joke, Communications?"

            "It's whatever you want it to be, Actual," said Lambert with a small chuckle. He quickly hid the laugh with a cough as he pulled up the files on the display screen. "There are five logs, in chronological order, assumably. So far, they've all been consecutive days-"

            "So far?"

            Lambert looked at her sheepishly. "I... may or may not have listened to the first four logs while downloading the files. For the most part the reports have been normal, relatively. He references a lot of nonsense but I believe most of it's meant to be pop culture, so I'll let you decipher those later. Minkowski has been in one of his recordings, and mentioned in the others. It's definitely the same woman we have in the infirmary. Other crew seems to be a Doctor by the name of Hilbert and a Gen 0 AI he calls Hera."

            "So you listened to the first four but not the fifth?"

            "Honestly, Captain, I'm not sure if I want to. If these were his daily logs, they weren't uploaded to the server and sent to command yet. And since he wasn't in the shuttle with Minkowski, and taking her reactions yesterday into the equation..." he hesitated.

            "You think this might be his final log."

            "It's a fair assumption, yes," said Lambert, glad he didn't have to say it himself.

            "We have to know. Whatever happened on Minkowski's mission, if she was ever here to begin with, we have to know."

            Lambert grimaced. "So I'm not the only one, then."

            "Not the only what?" asked Lovelace.

            "Honestly, Captain? You're the one with all the Star Trek-Wars knowledge. Does this or does this not seem a bit too convenient?" Lambert looked to her incredulously.

            Lovelace crossed her arms, leaning a hip into the comms panel. "I'm listening."

            "Mysterious spacecraft limps its way into our docking station, just as we ourselves are beginning to accept that no help is coming. No warning from command, in fact no word from them since the codes to get Rhea's emergency functions onto manual, and no concrete information about where this 'Minkowski' woman came from except for some delusional ramblings from herself and mysterious logs from a man none of us have ever heard of. We're meant to believe somehow she was on this station, with no prior records of her existence or evidence of a past crew here, based solely on her word and some audio recording that was conveniently left in the craft for us to find?"

            "Stranger things have happened in this hellhole," Lovelace considered. "You're the one who was convinced aliens were science fiction before-"

            "There is still no concrete evidence that the transmissions are alien in origin," interrupted Officer Lambert sternly.

            Lovelace threw her hands in the air. "God, Sam! Aliens! Death spiders! Strange noises, impossible viruses, that whole fucking Empty Man ordeal! Not to mention our medical officer going Most Dangerous Game on all of us. Nothing on this goddamn station is normal, can you drop your logic for three seconds and see that?" She motioned wildly to the floor, where at least three rooms below them Minkowski lay unconscious in the infirmary. "Why the hell wouldn't she be some long lost commanding officer of some other abandoned mission here? The way our luck's going I'm just glad she's not tried to kill anyone yet!"

            Lambert pinched the bridge of his nose, sucking a sigh through his nose. "Look, I'm just trying to be rational here."

            Lovelace was about to tell him exactly where he could shove his rationality when she realized that rationality was the only thing keeping Lambert from losing it. The Selberg ordeal had hit him hard; perhaps harder than herself even. In the late hours one night when they'd had to babysit the life support, before getting Rhea back online, Lambert had admitted that on some level he blamed himself for the incident. If he hadn't brought up the transmissions in passing, he'd said, then maybe Dr. Selberg wouldn't have noticed. Maybe he wouldn't have locked everyone out of the control room and flooded the halls with halothane gas, and maybe he wouldn't have ripped out Rhea's personality core when she found a way to defy the coding he'd put in her. Granted, it only took a week for Fourier and Hui to find a way to get her back online, and Selberg was locked in the observation deck as a makeshift brig (much to the dismay of the astrophysicists who used to use that space for work and... other things), but the entire crew had been shaken by the shared experience of nearly dying and the realization that Dr. Selberg was working under orders that none of the rest of them understood. Command was not on their side, and in fact, they all had doubts that Command planned on them returning to earth at all.

            And now there was potential proof that they weren't the first to be stranded on the Hephaestus.

            And that terrified Lambert, because it meant that there was really no help coming.

            Lovelace put a hand on his shoulder. "If you don't want to listen to this-"

            "No," he said, shaking his head as if to clear it. "I should. I... I need to know." He gave Lovelace a shaky smile. "For better or for worse."

            She patted his shoulder, leaning forward to press play.

            Surprisingly, the dramatic entrance of Communications Officer Doug Eiffel was accompanied by swelling tones of classical music.

            "Are all his records like this?" asked Lovelace in a hushed tone.

            "The others have been significantly less grandiose," said Lambert.

            The voice of Minkowski butted in, telling the man to get to work. Apparently he was on a space walk on the outside of the station, and his commander wanted him back inside as soon as possible.

            "I'm having Fisher flashbacks," said Lovelace. Fisher had been trapped outside the station during a meteor shower a few months back, and had only managed to get back unharmed due to luck and a very precise Rhea telling him exactly when and where to move to avoid impact zones.

            "Hm," said Lambert.

            "It also sounds like he was picking up some of the same transmissions you are," added Lovelace, hearing the plinky sounds of old piano come through the adjusted dish.

            "He kept wrestling with flighty signals in the previous recordings. I figured they might be the same."

            "Do you think Command knew?" she looked to Lambert.

            He pursed his lips. "I... I don't know. Maybe."

            Any further analysis by Lambert was cut off by a whooping alarm and frantic AI beeping from the recording.

            "Radiological alert," whispered Lovelace. "He's about to get caught out in a solar flare."   

            "Poor bastard," breathed Lambert.

            _"Doctor Hilbert, please tell me that's something you're doing."_

_"Negative, Commander-"_

            Lovelace grabbed Lambert's arm. She felt the other man stiffen at the same moment. Neither of them could take their eyes off the speaker, nor bring themselves to cut off that oh-too-familiar voice.

            _"-Not engaged in any experimental conditions at the moment. It's the star."_

"Selberg," whispered Lovelace.

            "It can't be," replied Lambert, but the fear in his eyes said he believed otherwise.

            "I don't know how it could be, but you heard him. You know that voice as well as I do. And we have someone onboard who can probably confirm that for us."

            Lambert shook his head. "She's unstable, we can't take her to Selberg until we are sure of both her mental state and his previous involvement, if any."

            _"Mayday, Mayday, floating off structure."_

Lambert shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flickering back to the speakers. "We can go interrogate Selberg when we've, uh... When we've finished-"

            There was a scream of pain from the recording as the flare hit. Lambert's knuckles whitened on his grip of his work panel.

            _"I am spinning, I have no control of my trajectory. Please come in!"_

            "You don't have to listen to this," Lovelace said, her own heart beating hard in her chest at the cries of distress from the recording.

            "I..."

            _"Ah, SON OF A BITCH!"_

"Lambert, look at me."

            Sam looked up, meeting Lovelace's eyes. She put her hands on his shoulders, squaring herself with him.

            "I order you to go, now. I'll listen to this and let you know what happened, _if_ you want to know."

            He took a moment before nodding. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." And then he was out of the comms room in record time.

            Lovelace stayed. She stayed for the report of blindness and a dislocated shoulder, stayed for the hundred feet of tether to climb up to get back, stayed for the hesitant beeping of Hera and the resultant shouts from Eiffel about the logic of drowning in space.

            She stayed for Minkowski ordering Hilbert to help her, stayed for the desperate maneuvers with the propulsion unit (which she had to agree with Eiffel that 'jetpack thingy' was a better name for), stayed for when the recorder's sounds were literally drowned out with water.

            She even stayed for the minute or two of muffled silence before the sound of depressurization and sloshing liquid.

            " _Dammit, Eiffel, **breathe**!" _

            There were the sounds of fabric and contact, and some other muffled noises that could have been CPR being administered. The station's AI beeped urgently, then hesitantly, then, even, sadly? Minkowski's screaming got more desperate and pleading as she went on, punctuated by her pumping at his heart with her hands and gasping breaths to push through his lips with her own.

            _"Eiffel, come on. I know you're too stubborn to go down to something like this. Now show some of that goddamn resilience I know you have and **breathe**! Come on, come on! Just spit it out! You've cried bigger puddles than this, I know you have! Just... Just breathe, come on! That's a direct order, soldier! I... I'll let you smoke your dumb cigarettes and ruin your stupid lungs if you just... if you just... Eiffel... please... please no..."_

_"He is gone, Commander."_

There was a moment of silent, heavy breathing, and then a scream. It was Minkowski, a scream of rage and frustration and hopelessness that, honestly, Lovelace recognized. As the scream gave way to heavy sobs, there was a rustle of movement and the recorder shut off.


End file.
